


Sansaery Shorts

by Saraste



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/F, Femslash, Light Dom/sub, Mirrors, Submission
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-18
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2019-01-19 04:37:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12403218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saraste/pseuds/Saraste
Summary: Miscellaneous sansary shorts that don't fit into any of my existing verses.





	1. Edge of Enough

**Author's Note:**

> This is nothing but self-indulgent pwp that I wrote because I wanted to.

‘Look at you…’ Margaery sighs, reverent and breathless. Even when she has no reason to be breathless.

Not like Sansa, whose head is thrown back on the pillows, her breasts heaving as she fights to hold on, even if she has no reason to. Margaery will make her come and come and come until Margaery is finished with her and Sansa has little say in it, having surrendered to Margaery’s dominance. It is a thrill to Sansa, giving her pleasure up, leaving her release to Margaery’s discretion. She can always say no when she’s overwhelmed, yet rarely ever does, preferring to let Margaery stoke her to such a hazy frenzy that she’s floating in her head, ‘yes’ and ‘please’ and ‘Margaery’ all she can think of to say, to need to say.

‘Margaery,’ she clenches around the fingers inside of her, the thumb pressing at her clit, and presses her heels to the mattress.

Sansa doesn’t even know how many times she’s come already and does care, relishes the ache between her legs.

‘Come for me, Sansa,’ Margaery says, her words piercing clear into Sansa’s floating mind, ‘come for me now.’

Sansa still has enough energy to arch up the bed, to gasp raggedly as she shakes and shakes, on the edge of almost too much. But it isn’t. Not yet. Not when she can still think, not when she knows that she wants more, for Margaery to make her sore. She whimpers as Margaery’s hand withdraws from her, disappointment swallowed by Margaery’s soothing kiss that steals her breath away. Margaery kisses her until she’s silly with it. 

Margaery’s eyes look into hers. ‘More?’

‘Always.’

Margaery goes down on her until Sansa is sobbing with it, lost in the hazy pain-pleasure and the knowledge that she is  _ cherished.  _ And then Sansa thinks of nothing more, feels and needs nothing more, is lost and safe, because she can always trust Margaery.

She is loved and everything is perfect.


	2. Look and See (What You've Made of Me)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Margaery + Sansa + Bed + Mirror = naughty fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This can technically be a non-modern smutlet, or you can read as modern au, if you want. Stand-alone.

Sansa leans against Margaery, head lolling on her shoulder. Margaery hands travel over her skin, paying generous attention to her breasts, making Sansa squirm before moving down, where Sansa spreads her legs and wants Margaery to touch, desperately.

 

‘Eyes in the mirror, Sansa,’ Margaery says and then nibbles at Sansa’s earlobe.

 

There is nothing to do for Sansa but to look, see her reflection in the mirror as Margaery’s fingers slip inside. In her reflection she looks wanton and lost, skin flushed from her face down to her chest, her legs spread and trembling as Margaery stokes her desire, which needs little kindling to burst into flame.

 

Margaery herself is dressed, where she lounges behind Sansa, supported on pillows, holding Sansa’s pale nudeness against the pale lilac of her gown. Sansa looks like she belongs to her, is Margaery’s possession, which is nothing but the truth, after all.

 

‘Look at yourself,’ Margaery purrs a command, her hand stilling.

 

Sansa does, seeing Margaery’s fingers slipping inside of her, between her legs where she is so wet and trembling, the heel of a hand pressing against her throbbing center, which needs little stimulation, on the edge as she is. She wants desperately to close her legs as it’s overwhelming, to look at herself like this, so exposed, so wantonly displayed for both their pleasure.

‘Look at you…’

Sansa whimpers. She does not speak, has not been given leave to, not except in extremis, when she doesn’t want Margaery’s control, cannot handle it, for one reason or other. Such a thing hasn’t happened yet and might never. But she has a word which would stop it all. Yet she will not use it now, as this, this is something Sansa wants, needs, and she will not stop Margaery for the world.

Margaery strokes inside her, presses, spreads. 

‘Are you mine?’

Sansa nods, presses against Margaery. Let’s go, looking at the pretty picture she makes, in Margaery’s steady arms. And it is perfect. Nothing more, nothing less. And she is Margaery’s, now and always.


End file.
